The Side of Angels
by XoAwakeAndAliveoX
Summary: What if, just before he took the fall, Sherlock had made a deal with a demon to keep his friends safe, and allow him to live? What if that is the secret to surviving? Sherlock's last day on Earth, and as he's trying to find a way out, he calls some old friends for help - Sam and Dean Winchester.


_The Side of Angels_

_A BBC Sherlock/Supernatural crossover Fanfiction_

Generally, the dictionary meaning of silence is something along the lines of "the complete absence of sound". However, if that were so true, then why was it that to Sherlock Holmes, this lack of noise in the 221 Baker Street flat seemed to be deafening? Normally, Sherlock would have welcomed the silence, claiming that he could think better with it; sadly, though, things were now drastically different. Salt lines trailed the floor in front of the doors and windowsills in the small flat – a desperate attempt to keep something out. A big something. A demon. Sherlock sighed, making a final ring of salt around a chair in the middle of the room. He hoped that the case he had sent John to go investigate would take a while to be solved. He couldn't put John in danger like he so foolishly had himself. John had to stay away from the flat for a few days; he could only hope that the man wouldn't be the one to find his dead body on the ground. The Holmes knew that he had essentially saved John from depression and suicide once, and someone was possibly going to have to do that all over again. It wasn't going to be easy for John to know that his best friend was dead, but it would be so much harder to be the one to find him like that. Sherlock knew it.

A couple days previous, Sherlock had managed to contact a couple of his friends that had experience with demons and the supernatural – Sam and Dean. It was an attempt to save his life. Sherlock had made a deal, and knew that he was going to end up facing the consequences; however, that would not stop him from trying. It was basic human instinct to survive, and no matter how "smart" you are, most people are afraid of death.

Sherlock sat down in the chair, his eyes low and swirling with a combination of many emotions – sadness, anger, regret (almost), and most of all, fear. Fear was the number one feeling that he was experiencing right now, and it was also the one thing he hated most, being afraid. Fear is weakness, in his opinion, just as most emotions are. Except for one. Love. And no, not love as in lovers, but the type of love that two people may share, such as best friends or even brothers. Even now, the only word circling around his thoughts was the name of his best friend – John.

Sherlock recalled the moment that he had asked John what he would think of in his last few moments...would he think of Sherlock? Just as Sherlock was thinking of him now? Or would he just become a faded memory of John's? Just a speck of dust on a bookshelf of memories?

The detective shook his head. He shouldn't be thinking of these things. Surely John would remember him, right? He wasn't the type of person to forget people easily, if at all.

"They say..." Sherlock began speaking softly to himself, "They say that once you die, you relive your entire life again in seven minutes...if that is s, then I suppose that I'll see you for the first time again, John..."

Sherlock began to miss those that were the closest to him: Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade, John, and even Molly. It hadn't even been a day since he had last seen them, yet he already longed to see them all at least once more before he died. He wished. The Holmes honestly did not want to die. He wished he could have a second chance, though he knew that that was unlikely. Sherlock chuckled dryly to himself. Second chanced? Do those even exist? He didn't believe so. There would be no other chances for Sherlock Holmes. No reincarnations. No heaven. Just hell. Literal Hell, you know, with the fire and demons. Souls being tortured. Yeah, that Hell.

It was then that a knock on the door snapped the famous detective back into reality. Cautiously, he called out, "Who is it?"

A sigh was heard. "It's the damn pizza man. Who the hell do you think it is, Sherlock?" An angry voice called out in reply.

Sherlock sighed. They were here. Sam and Dean. Oh, he hoped they could help. He was nearly out of time. Looking at his watch right now, he realized that he only had an hour left. Would that be enough time? Slowly, he stood up and locked the door, keeping his gaze low. He knew that the boys would be pissed at him; he had gone and done exactly what he was instructed not to do, and now look at him. He was essentially a walking dog bone.

"Sam, Dean...welcome."

The Winchester brothers walked into the small flat, making sure to repair the broken salt line. Dean looked around the flat, noting the salt ring around the chair in the center of the room. He shook his head. "I don't understand," He growled, "How could you do this, man? We told you not to. We could have found another way to keep Moriarty from harming them. So why this?"

"There was no other way, Dean. I couldn't lost them. I still can't," Sherlock paused, "They were going to be killed if I didn't do something. It was make the deal and then jump, not only saving them, but giving myself an extra year, or live and selfishly let them get murdered."

Sam took a deep breath and placed his bag of weapons on the couch, before looking to his brother as if to ask what the plan would be. As if he was reading his brother's mind, Dean answered.

"We wait. We make sure that salt is around every entry way, nook and cranny of this flat, we get Sherlock in that salt ring, and we wait."

That was just about all Sam could think to do; there wasn't much to be done. If they had been informed earlier than this, they may have been able to get Sherlock out of his deal. Until the hellhounds come, all that they could do was wait. Wait and hope.

Within a half hour, the Winchesters were both armed with a shotgun filled with rock-salt and some holy water, while Sherlock was sitting in the salt circle. His heart raced with fear, though he wouldn't dare show it. It was his choice that had gotten him where he was now anyways. His ignorance that was going to get him killed.

Silence. Once again, the flat was filled with gut-wenching quietness. Everyone was awaiting the all-too-familiar howls and barks of those devilish dogs that would be determined to take Sherlock's life away. Those deafening howls that had been in the detective's nightmares for weeks. Everyone's eyes watched the clock on the wall which read 11:55. There were only five minutes left.

Sam and Dean paid no attention to Sherlock, whom was not sloppily scribbling something down on a piece of paper. After his death, it would soon be discovered that this would be his note to Doctor John Watson...his apology for the pain that he was possibly going to put the man through.

The minutes slowly passed until finally, the clock struck midnight. It was time.

Sherlock's heart began to race with fear. He tried to fully believe that with the Winchesters there, he would be safe. Nothing would kill him. He would be able to live, and nothing could harm him. However, there was always that tiny voice in his mind that overpowered his attempts to believe in the boys. This was it, wasn't it? This was going to be the end of Sherlock Holmes.

Within seconds, a loud and thunderous barking could be heard from down the hall. It was time. Doors were burst open by an invisible force, claws dug into the wooden flooring, barking and growling filled the air, and everyone began to tense up. The barking ceased momentarily as the Hellhounds reached the door to the flat, which was lined with salt.

"I'm sorry..." Sherlock whispered, his beautiful blue eyes no longer filled with sadness, but instead, fear. "I am so sorry, John..." He repeated, his eyes never leaving the door. Sam and Dean readied their guns. Soon enough, all hell broke loose as the fight began. Some of the salt began moving away from in front of the because of all the vibrations. Gunshots, howls of pain, yelps, and screams were heard. It was time.

It was the time, and Sherlock's time was over. Despite the efforts made by the Winchester brothers, they were quickly overpowered. The hounds knocked the guns from the boy's hands, distracting them, while others were going after the detective. It wasn't long before the screams of agony were heard, filling the Winchesters with anger and sadness as they realized that the Holmes was no longer with them. The screams had stopped, and there was no reply from the bloodied man lying on the ground. There was no denying it now.

Sherlock Holmes was dead – for the second time, you could say.

The Winchesters shakily stood up, struggling to hold back tears. Another one. They had failed to protect another close friend, and they had in turn lost him. How many other people would have to die? It wasn't fair. Sherlock was a good man. Yeah, there were times that he could be an arse. Even John would admit it. But he hadn't deserved this. He really didn't.

Days later, the day of the funeral, John Watson stood in front of the casket of his best friend once again, devistated. The man that he had thought was dead for weeks, then found again, had just died. He just lost his best friend again. The man who saved his life. He was dead. John lost Sherlock for the second time.

In John's clenched hand was a note – a note delivered to him personally by the Winchesters themselves. He'd had it since the previous day, but hasn't had the guts to open it and read it. What did it say? He was afraid to find out.

After much persuasion from Molly, Lestrade, Mary, and Mrs. Hudson, John finally decided to see the contents of the note. Unfolding the small piece of paper in his shaking hands, John released a choked sob, for in big, bold letters were the words "I may have been on the side of the angels, but I never was one. I'm sorry, John. - SH"

John looked down at the ground, and then back at the note. "I am too..." He whispered softly, changing his gaze to look at the cloudy sky, the paper clenched tightly in his hands. "I'm sorry as well, Sherlock..."

**Word count: 1810 words**


End file.
